


where there is love there is life

by radialDespair



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, Hunger Games AU, and will add more warnings as those become necessary, lesbian Jester, will tag with more characters as they appear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 12:20:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19790770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radialDespair/pseuds/radialDespair
Summary: Beauregard Lionett, daughter of the mayor of District 11, wants out, and the Games seem like the easiest way to achieve that. Volunteer, win the games, become a Victor, never have to deal with her parents again. Simplicity itself.The only slight hiccough is the beautiful little blue tiefling who was just reaped from District 4.Can they find a way to survive the arena together, or will this end, as all the games do, with tragedy?





	where there is love there is life

_ Beauregard Lionett _

Beau’s mouth was full of the coppery tang of blood, and when she brought her fingers to her lip, they came away slicked red. She hadn’t realised that she had taken a hit that hard - she could usually roll with the punches a little better, but the guy she’d fought tonight had been better than the usual dregs that could be convinced to fight the Mayor’s daughter. Hardly surprising - people were more reckless than usual on the eve of a reaping. There was always a fight going if you waited around by the labourers’ bunkhouse for long enough, though - some big bastard with more muscles than sense, and people willing to wager on it. No one ever bet against Beau any more, which was a shame - it had been good money, for a while. 

She spat a gob of blood, and started on her way home, her adrenaline high already crashing. Fighting was about the only time she felt comfortable. The only time she wasn’t controlled by her father. The only time she was free. It relaxed her, at least a little. Let her realise that she wasn’t just a helpless kid. It gave her some hope, and on the day before the reaping, hope was something in short supply, especially in 11.

The alleyway behind the bunkhouse was dark and squalid, and smelt faintly of the poison used to kill the rats that inhabited much of 11 - they came for the silos, but didn’t have any qualms about moving into the rest of the district. Beau could see one right now, perched on his hind legs, nose snuffling a little, intelligent eyes trained on her.

She’d always wanted a pet rat, but last time she had caught one, her mother had gotten the gardener to drown it in front of her, as a lesson. Beau could still remember struggling against her father’s arms, clawing and biting as he held her, trying to reach the poor creature as it scrabbled against the inside of the bucket, but she had learnt her lesson. Her parent’s house wasn’t safe, not for her and not for anything she loved.

She blinked, and rubbed at her eyes. Some dust must have been blown down the alleyway or something. Whatever. The rat dropped to all fours and ran off out of sight.

Beau reached the end of the alleyway, and jumped to pull herself over the fence. Whilst the perimeter fences were electrified, the fences between the town itself and the hundred or so metres of scrubland within the perimeter didn’t tend to be. The peacekeepers were aware that most families buried their dead out here, and that it wasn’t worth the trouble of preventing them from visiting. 

Beau wasn’t out here to visit a dead relative, though - curfew was strictly enforced, but with no lights out here, it would be easy enough to make her way back to the richer parts of town, where the Peacekeepers didn’t tend to patrol - the wealthy of District 11 were largely as scared of the poor as the Capitol was, so wouldn’t be drawn into sedition so easily.

Making her way out into the darkness, Beau continued, all but blind, until she could hear the high pitched whine of the perimeter fence. She’d heard that some of the other districts didn’t have such draconian measures - their fences weren’t electrified, or they didn’t have fences at all. She wasn’t sure she believed it - how would anyone know? - and even if it were true, she didn’t really think it mattered - the Capitol was still a shithole full of bastards. Either way, the sound of the fence let her keep her bearings as she walked in the pitch black - if the volume didn’t change, then she could be sure she was still walking the perimeter.. She supposed she ought to be thankful for that much, at least..

She was traipsing through the field for about twenty minutes. It was somewhat unnerving, walking when she couldn’t see five feet in front of her, but she made this trip every few weeks, whenever things got too much to bear, so she didn’t let it bother her any longer. Eventually she stopped - squinting at the streetlights, she could make out that she had reached the correct street.

From there, it was a simple enough matter to slip through the hole she had cut in the internal fencing, and in a matter of moments she was nearing the manor. The lights were off as she approached, which she took to mean that her father had stopped pretending to care enough to stay up and yell at her, and would instead just yell at her in the morning. 

As she scaled the wall of her father’s house, Beau smiled grimly. She was almost looking forward to it. There was something about knowing that he wouldn’t ever be able to do it again after tomorrow that really made her feel pretty good about it, all things considered.

Beau eased the window to her bedroom open, and pulled herself through. It wasn’t that bad, as bedrooms go - there was a dresser in the corner, a bed on the wall nearest to her, and a wardrobe next to the door. Anyone who saw it, though, would assume it was a room-to-let; there were no decorations on the wall, no clothes on the floor, no sign that someone was living there. Just how her father liked it. She didn’t mind, not tonight. Her things were all packed, ready to go.

By this time tomorrow night, she thought, she would be on the train to the Capitol. She wondered, idly, if being a volunteer from District 11 would make her noteworthy enough to garner some sponsors. She didn’t think so - she was an abrasive asshole, at her most basic level, and it bled into everything she did and was. Still, she didn’t need help, she could kick ass with her bare hands if it came to it.    


She’d be a victor, if she didn’t die. With her own house, far from her father. Whatever happened, though, this was the last night she’d spend under his roof.   
  


_ Jester Lavorre _

Jester hated the Reaping. Everyone stood around the town square and waited for the Capitol’s Escort to pull the names from the bowls, then there was a pause - always a pause - before the careers volunteered. She had often thought about how awful it had to be, for the ones who were reaped, standing on the stage, waiting to be told that they weren’t going to die. Waiting for the careers to volunteer to die for them, instead.

Today, though, she hated it even more than usual. That was hardly surprising though, because Yussah Errenis, the terribly short elven man who was the Capitol’s escort for District 2, had just said “Jester Lavorre” in that strange dead voice he always used when reaping.

Everything seemed to have frozen, then. It didn’t seem possible - Jester had never gone in for Tesserae. The chances of her getting chosen seemed astronomical. Surely there was a mistake? 

She knew there wasn’t, though, when nothing happened. She didn’t even notice, as her legs began to move, as the crowd parted before her like water. She wanted someone to stop her, to go in her stead. No one did, and she reached the edge of the section for 17 year olds. There was a clear path to the front, where Yussah was frowning slightly as he peered into the glass ball.

She tried to keep smiling as she made her way to the front. This wasn’t anything to worry about, right? Someone would volunteer, someone always did. The important thing was to keep smiling. Keep being Marion Lavorre’s friendly daughter, who skipped down the street and swam out to talk to the people on the fishing boats as they came back to port. She hadn’t ever thought about it, but she was at least vaguely aware of sponsorship, and even if she wasn’t, she was the daughter of the Ruby of the Sea. Putting up a facade was in her  _ blood _ .

She missed, somehow, the boy that got reaped after her - a half-orc, pretty scrawny, given his species. He looked about as alarmed as she felt, and she hoped the careers, whoever they were, volunteered soon. 

Looking around, though, Jester could see where the Careers typically gathered, but they weren’t there. She blinked again, making sure she hadn’t somehow missed them, but there was truly no one there. Scanning the crowd, she saw one or two supremely unhappy looking faces in the crowd, faces she vaguely recognised as being careers, but they weren’t moving. Her eyes flicked to the balcony of the Lavish Chateau, where her mother ordinarily watched from. Marion was stood completely stock still, her eyes burning.

Jester was still waiting for a career to volunteer when she was lead off the stage by the Peacekeepers. 

By the time Jester and the other tribute made it to the Hall of Justice, having been delayed by Capitol Journalists trying to grab a soundbite whilst they were still in shock, Marion was already there - there was a passageway from the Lavish Chateau to the Hall of Justice, which let Marion travel there without having to go outside. Jester was a little surprised that they’d been willing to spend so much money on something like that, but she supposed it made sense. Her mama was very important, after all. 

Jester surged forwards, and Marion staggered a little, as Jester engulfed her in a hug. 

“Oh, my little sapphire” Marion pressed her lips to Jester’s forehead. “My little sapphire, I’m so sorry.”

Jester frowned, pulling back to look her mama in the eye. “Mama? What are you sorry about?”

“I should have known, little sapphire. Algar was never going to forgive and forget. I should have done better.”

“So… you think he stopped the careers volunteering? Why would he do that, he couldn’t know I would get reaped?” said Jester, confusion clearly    
  
“Ah. For that, you have my sincerest apologies, Madam and Miss Lavorre.” Yussah Errenis cut in. Jester spun on the spot to look at him - he had moved with a silence belying his somewhat foppish Capitol appearance. 

Marion Lavorre took an involuntary step forwards, her eyes burning “ _ You did this _ ?”

Yussah swallowed. “Say rather that I allowed this to happen through my negligence, Madam Lavorre. I didn’t see the harm in delegating the organisation for the Reapings. With volunteers every year for the last two decades, it seemed pointless. Today, I realised it wasn’t. I am - truly - sorry”

“Since the Reaping was rigged, surely we can just-” Jester started, but Yussah interrupted her before she could finish.

“We cannot admit that the Reaping was rigged, unless you want to know  _ personally _ what it’s like to live in one of the districts where the Peacekeepers don’t treat the citizens with the respect District 4 is currently afforded.”

“Are you  _ threatening  _ my daughter, Yussah?” Marion said, her voice raised slightly in disbelief.

“I am threatening no one and nothing. I am telling you what happens when a district raises the ire of the Capitol. You don’t want to do that.”

Jester left at that point, as Yussah shrugged one shoulder as though to say “what can you do”, and walked off to get a drink, and if she didn’t find someone who didn’t consider her death a sad - but not  _ terribly  _ sad - necessity, then she would scream. 

Looking around, however, she realised there weren’t all that many people here - there was the other tribute, a couple of victors drinking themselves into a stupor with Yussah, and the two victors chosen to serve as mentors for the 74th Hunger Games.

The woman, who Jester vaguely remembered was called “Avantika,” from the 70th Games, was talking to the other tribute - now that Jester looked at him more closely, he didn’t look as scrawny as she thought he had before. He was slender, and clearly didn’t work on one of the fishing vessels, but he had a sort of coiled strength that suggested perhaps he worked on one of the larger ships, or the docks. Jester found she didn’t mind too much; Avantika honestly scared her; she had led the career pack brutally in those Games, and then when there were still five other tributes left, cut all their throats whilst they slept. She had personally killed just almost half the tributes in her games, and it was widely accepted that she was the most hated victor, throughout the districts, and that included the kid from 6 who ate his kills.

That left the male mentor, but try as she might, Jester couldn’t place him. His face was at once familiar and deeply unknowably alien. He looked as though he could have as easily won the first games as the last. 

“Excuse me?” She asked, eventually. Better to get it over and done with.   
  
“Yes, Jester?” The man said, turning to look at her. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, but if they are, this man kept his curtains drawn.

“Are you the other mentor?” Jester would have been concerned that he knew her name, but it  _ had _ just been read out on national television.

He smiled, and spoke in a low, gently amused voice. “Oh, yes, I suppose I am. You may call me the Traveler, if you wish.” As Jester opened her mouth, the Traveler continued smoothly “No, that was not the name I was given long ago, but it is the name I now choose.”

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so full disclosure: It is very unlikely this gets finished, but I'm really gonna try.


End file.
